


family pack

by garbagemanmilo



Category: All Elite Wrestling
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Age Regressor Jungle Boy, Age Regressor Kris Statlander, Age Regressor Marko Stunt, Age Regressor Orange Cassidy, Angst, Babysitter Leva Bates, Caregiver Chuck Taylor, Caregiver Luchasaurus, Caregiver Trent Beretta, Fluff, Gen, Non-Sexual Age Regression, lucha is a dad to marko and jungle boy in the second chapter, marko gets his nose broken in the second chapter, only write this cause someone asked and because orange was MAD last night, orange piss him pants, takes place during the one year anniversary show, the blood orange situation, the inner circle are in this briefly, wetting mention in the first chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26783992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbagemanmilo/pseuds/garbagemanmilo
Comments: 68
Kudos: 19





	1. little one

Austin knows what’s up the second Jack crawls into his lap. The smaller man will, on occasion, appear to act younger than his actual age. He’ll adopt certain traits that, in all honesty, Austin finds  _ adorable;  _ sucking on his fingers, babbling softly to himself, his already drawling speech slurring further, wanting to be held, carried, and rocked. It feel like a great honor when Austin is allowed to interact with Jack when he's like this- the kid has said before that it’s sort of a private thing, he doesn’t like others seeing him when he’s acting like a baby- because it shows just how much Jack trusts him, trusts Austin to be cool about it and give him whatever he needs.

“Hey, little one,” Austin says, casual, soft- the nickname is something Jack came up with, upon the older man asking if he wanted to be called something when he’s acting young. Jack responds well to it; he curls up, puts his feet on Austin’s knee, and rests his head on his friend’s muscled chest. His hair is pulled back, tied in a low bun, and his dark eyes are a little squinty, like the room’s too bright. “Lights off?” Austin asks, and Jack nods, slips his pointer and middle finger into his mouth, suckles on them, and the older man forces himself to not comment on how _ precious _ the kid is. Leaning sideways, trying not to disturb the younger man in his lap, Austin clicks off the lamp beside him. The room grows significantly darker, and Jack’s eyes widen back to a normal level, and he huffs out a little, content sigh. 

With Jack in his lap, Austin can’t do much; he certainly doesn’t want to throw the kid out of whatever headspace he’s in currently, especially since he’s in such a good mood. Austin’s stomach drops when he thinks back to the first time he’d ever encountered Little Jack.   


* * *

He’d been working late on his computer, keeping his burning eyes open by sheer will alone, when a hand had patted his arm gently but urgently. The older man was about to string together a list of expletives at the interruption, but then he caught the sight of Jack, shoulders hunched and face pink. He looked equal parts scared and mortified, and Austin was startled to see the younger man’s eyes glistening with tears, his lower lip trembling, a telltale sign that he was deeply upset. It took Austin all too long to notice the dark patch on Jack’s sweatpants, spread from crotch to inner thigh, nearly to his knees, and when he found his voice, he said, “what the _ hell _ happened, Jack?”

That was absolutely the wrong thing to say, in hindsight, because Jack had burst into fresh tears, crying openly and loudly, buried his face in his hands, chest shaking. Austin had reached out, grabbed the kid by his shoulders, and pulled him into a firm hug, mumbled incomprehensible comfort into his hair, the top of his head. He waited until the sobs had subsided to guide Jack towards the bathroom, one hand flat against his back, left him sitting on the toilet seat while the older man searched his own room for a spare set of pajamas. Armed with a shirt three sizes too big and an old pair of flannel pajama pants, Austin returned to his younger friend- far younger, in fact- and drew him a warm bath. “I’m sorry for that,” he said as he helped Jack out of his wet sweatpants, “I didn’t know- I didn’t know that you were gonna  _ cry _ like that,” he finished lamely, but the smaller man nodded, barely, and stepped into the tub.

Jack allowed Austin to bathe him, lifting his arms obediently and moving so the older man could soap his back and chest, and only flinched when he was being rinsed off. He stood up from the dirty water, shivered until the bigger man wrapped a clean towel around his body, squeaked when Austin gathered him up and lifted him clear out of the tub. In his friend’s arms, Jack turned and hid his face as Austin dried him off and dressed him, embarrassed and ashamed of his accident. “Things happen, kid,” Austin explained, stroking Jack’s wet curls soothingly. 

* * *

Austin shakes himself out of the memory when Jack tugs on his shirt, eyelids drooping. “You tired, little one?” he asks, chuckling when the younger man shakes his head almost vehemently, brows furrowed angrily.  _ Fake _ angrily, because the next second his face relaxes, and a little smile graces Jack’s lips. There’s this glazed, far-away look in the smaller man’s eyes, and it would worry the hell out of Austin if he didn’t know Jack better. But he  _ does _ know Jack- knows him very well- and he can see how relaxed, content his friend is, cuddled up against his chest. For a few moments, Austin lets himself stroke the younger man’s back, just looking at Jack’s face; the way his eyes always look sort of sleepy, the natural pout of his mouth, the way his front teeth look a little too large. It’s the small things, insignificant in the grand scheme, but they’re important to the older man as he holds Jack close.

Pretty soon, Austin notices the way Jack’s breathing has deepened, slowed down; still even, but it’s clear the kid has fallen asleep. He always looks cute, sleeping- all the muscles in his face go lax, and his mouth hangs open. The younger man also drools, which Austin finds endearing rather than annoying, mostly because when he wakes up, no matter what headspace he’s in, he’ll wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, gathering the spit there, even as he struggles to stay conscious. It’s a childish gesture that Austin can’t help but adore- he could very easily wipe his mouth on his pillow, or his blanket- Jack just chooses to use his hand. The older man is rather fond of all his friend’s little quirks.

“ _ Alright _ ,” Austin mutters, hooking one arm underneath Jack’s legs, the other supporting his back and shoulders, grunting as he stands and shifts the smaller man’s deadweight. Jack makes a soft noise in his sleep- it’s babyish, a coo- and it plucks at the older man's heartstrings. Walking slowly and carefully, Austin makes his way to Jack’s bedroom, relieved that the younger man has left the door open. He takes a second to make sure his friend’s legs won’t hit the doorway before entering. The room is dark and messy; clothes strewn on the floor, empty bowls and plates littered about on his desk, and it makes the clean freak in Austin wince. “ _ Oh, Jack _ ,” he sighs, taking in the clutter, but steps over the piles of clothes to lay Jack down in his bed. The smaller man rolls onto his side the second he’s put down, and one hand snakes up to his mouth. Austin smiles, watching Jack suck on his fingers, sound asleep. 


	2. regression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luchasaurus leaves his two sons by themselves, and Marko and Jungle Boy manage to get into serious trouble.

Luchasaurus loves his sons, he really does. Even with their energy, their attitudes, he adores them, and wouldn’t want it any other way. But having two sons- two  _ age regressor  _ sons, at that- can put a strain on a dinosaur.

Especially when they regress at the same time.

Marko is Luchasaurus’ older son, and he’s a self-described “middle”; a regressor between the ages ten to eighteen. His age range is around ten to fourteen, and he tends to cause the most problems around the house. 

Jungle Boy is Luchasaurus’ younger son, and he also regresses to a far younger age; his age range is between two to an infant. The only issue with baby Jungle Boy is that he loves to chew on things, usually things that he shouldn’t be putting in his mouth.

So when Luchasaurus hears Marko in the kitchen, banging around pans and pots, and the familiar sound of Jungle Boy babbling, he rushes to find his boys. Jungle Boy is sitting on the floor, watching his older brother with wide eyes. Marko is balanced on top of the counter, trying to reach the cake mix Luchasaurus thought he had hidden.

“Marko! Get down from there!” he shouts, and Marko turns, gives his father a guilty look. “Sorry, dad,” he mumbles, and slides down off the counter. For being the oldest, Marko is also the shortest, and Luchasaurus is secretly impressed that his son could climb so high without assistance.

Jungle Boy, still sitting in front of the cabinets, grabs at Luchasaurus the second he’s close enough. The dinosaur lifts his baby up, balancing Jungle Boy on his hip expertly, and brushes his wild hair back. “Good morning, little one,” he greets, and smiles when Jungle Boy giggles and reaches for his horns. 

“Dad, can we get pizza for lunch today?” Marko asks, staring up at Luchasaurus with big puppy-dog eyes that the dinosaur is absolutely weak for. “Marko, your brother can’t have pizza, he’s too young,” he reminds his oldest. Jungle Boy leans his cheek on Luchasaurus’ shoulder, eyelids drooping as he slips two fingers into his mouth to suckle on.

It’s a sweet sight that makes the dinosaur smile, makes his eyes crinkle around the sides. Jungle Boy isn’t long for this world, it seems; just a minute and he’s breathing deeply and evenly, fast asleep. Marko is tugging on Luchasaurus’ pant leg, eyes wide. “Dad, please? Jungle Boy can have some,” he says, and the dinosaur just shakes his head.

Marko pouts, folds his arms, and dramatically plops down on the floor. It’s extremely cute, but Luchasaurus forced himself to keep a straight face. “You  _ know _ Jungle Boy is too little to have pizza,” he explains, rubbing the younger man on the back when he shifts, fusses briefly. Hiking Jungle Boy up further on his hip, Luchasaurus smooths down his wild curls, then sighs. “Alright, we can get pizza,” he relents, and Marko yells with glee. “Hold on, kid. You’ll have to watch the little one while I go pick it up.”

His older son doesn’t let that phase him; he holds out his arms, a wide grin on his face as Luchasaurus carefully sets his younger son into Marko’s grasp. Jungle Boy is taller than his older brother, so it looks a bit awkward, with the shorter man having to hold his baby brother’s legs in a bridal carry. “I want pepperoni!” Marko announces, marching toward Jungle Boy’s room. 

When Luchasaurus arrives back home with two pizza boxes balanced in his arms, he’s alarmed to hear wailing. Dropping the boxes, he rushes down the hallway to Marko’s room, then peers into Jungle Boy’s. His heart stops when he sees blood on his youngest son’s face, along with tears. “What happened?” he asks frantically, closing the gap between him and his boy. Luchasaurus wipes Jungle Boy’s face, trying to see where the blood is coming from, and also trying to soothe his baby. The dinosaur doesn’t even notice Marko until a weak voice pipes up. “He’s not hurt, daddy.”

_ Daddy _ . Marko doesn’t call Luchasaurus that usually. The dinosaur whips around and almost yells at the state his oldest son’s in. The smaller man’s nose is swollen, slowly turning purple, becoming bruised. There’s a minor split in Marko’s lower lip, which is trembling; Luchasaurus’ stomach drops when he realizes the kid is trying to hold back tears of his own. “Oh, _ Marko _ ,” he breathes, watches his older son toddle toward him, unsteady and vulnerable. “Jungle Boy headbutted me,” he says, then quickly adds, “it wasn’t his fault, I was bein’ pushy. I’m sorry, he’s- don’t be mad at him, daddy.”

Luchasaurus gently eases Jungle Boy off his lap; his youngest is already calming down on his own. He holds out his arms, beckoning for Marko to come closer. He does, gladly, and practically falls into his father’s lap. The dam breaks, and suddenly Luchasaurus’ older son is sobbing, hands twisting into the dinosaur’s shirt. “I’m sorr- sorry, daddy, I didn’t- don’t be mad at me,” he hiccups, and fresh blood slicks from his nostrils, paints Marko’s teeth red, and it’s a gut-wrenching sight. “Easy, honey, I know- oh, baby, relax, your poor  _ face _ ,” Luchasaurus gasps, cupping his son’s cheeks and holding him still. It’s clear to the dinosaur that Marko’s nose is broken- Jungle Boy is a strong man, and Luchasaurus has no doubt that his youngest had gotten frustrated with his oldest and done the only thing he could think of in that moment- so he stands up, still holding Marko, and looks between him and Jungle Boy. 

Marko notices his father, starts squirming out of Luchasaurus’ grip. “I can walk,” he says, voice still thick with tears and blood, and it hurts the dinosaur to see his oldest like this; needing comfort, his daddy, but knowing that he has a baby brother that needs looking after, too. Luchasaurus shakes his head, shoves one hand into his pocket for his phone. “I’ll call Leva to babysit him,” he murmurs, dialing the woman’s number quickly and waiting, tense, as the phone rings.

“Hello?” comes the answer, and Luchasaurus could cry with relief. “Leva? Will you come over to watch Jungle Boy? He’s- Marko’s hurt, and they’re both regressed right now- I can’t take ‘em both with me, you know how the little one gets,” he babbles, stroking his free hand through Marko’s curls. “Of course, I’ll be right over,” Leva says, and he hangs up, sighs, pockets his phone again. “We’ll have to wait for Ms. Bates to get here, Marko, okay?” 

When Leva arrives, she has a baby bag thrown over one shoulder, hair up and out of the way, and she looks incredibly frazzled. “Jungle Boy’s in his room,” Luchasaurus calls from the kitchen, holding a frozen bag of peas against Marko’s nose. He’s squirming, crying from the pain and the pressure and the cold, and it breaks the dinosaur’s heart, seeing his boy so upset. Lifting his oldest one-armed, he passes by Leva as she pats her hip and searches for something in her bag.

The drive to the emergency room is silent and tense. Marko’s strapped into the backseat, head tilted forward, and his t-shirt is stained beyond repair. Luchasaurus has a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel as he pushes the speed limit while also trying not to get into a car accident. When he finds a spot near the entrance of the hospital, he pulls in, gets himself out, and rushes to unbuckle Marko and carry him in. They must be a sight; a dinosaur frantically checking in with an unusually small young man on his hip, but luckily the attendant at the front desk hands over the paperwork and tells Luchasaurus to take a seat, and hands the panicked father a handful of tissues.

It takes two hours for a doctor to bring them back. Luchasaurus watches the clock even as he starts yawning, and Marko’s leaned up against his side, sleeping fitfully, waking up occasionally to cry when the pain is too much and he needs soothing. The doctor is calm, gentle, and seems to know what’s going on without the dinosaur having to tell him. He gently palpates around Marko’s nose, wiggles the bridge, the tip, then the middle- and that’s when the young man starts weeping. “ _ Hurts _ ,” he moans, tears rolling down his flushed cheeks as he pulls away from the doctor. “I know,” the doctor murmurs, and grabs a couple alcohol pads to clean Marko’s face. “You’re a  _ trooper _ , big guy,” he says as the last trace of dried blood is wiped away. 

Luchasaurus watches the two interact, still nervous but more at ease, now that he knows the doctor is being gentle and sensitive to his son. “Well, the good news is he won’t have to have any surgery, we can put a splint over it, and I think he’ll be just fine,” he says. “He’ll be on medication for the pain- lemme write the prescription for you,” he mutters, grabs for a pad of paper. “There’ll be an external splint over the nose, which shouldn’t get wet or be moved around. That means no roughhousing for the next three weeks, bud,” is aimed at Marko, who nods. “Other than that, you’re clear to go. Call if his nose starts changing shape, or he’s having trouble breathing after the three weeks,” he explains, and Luchasaurus thanks the doctor, picks up his son, and walks out.

On the car ride back, with a splint over his swollen nose, Marko falls asleep again, leaving Luchasaurus alone with his thoughts. He feels guilty that he wasn’t there to prevent his oldest son’s injury, and wants to make it up to him. Turning into a drive-thru, he orders a large milkshake for Marko, pays, gathers the dessert, and drives the rest of the way home quicker, hoping it doesn’t melt.


	3. emergency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leva is called to babysit Jungle Boy while Luchasaurus gets Marko to a hospital.

Leva is just getting out of the shower when her phone rings. Wrapping a towel around herself, she tiptoes over to the counter, checks the collar ID, and frowns when she reads Luchasaurus’ name. Strange, but she answers. “Hello?”

“Leva? Will you come over to watch Jungle Boy? He’s- Marko’s hurt, and they’re both regressed right now- I can’t take ‘em both with me, you know how the little one gets,” is the chilling response she gets. It makes Leva almost gasp, imagining what could’ve happened to the sweet younger man. He’s athletic, great at climbing things he shouldn’t- maybe he hurt himself that way. But she shakes those thoughts away, heads out of the bathroom to her bedroom, grabbing a blouse and skirt at random. “Of course, I’ll be right over,” she says, and the line clicks as Luchasaurus hangs up. 

She gets dressed in record time- her blouse sticks to her still-wet back as she grabs a baby bag on her way out- and climbs into her car. Leva pushes the speed limit as much as she thinks she can get away with, nerves making her heart flutter. When she parks next to the dinosaur’s house, she has to take a second to breathe. She’s, admittedly, scared of what she’ll see when she steps into their home.  _ It can’t be all that bad _ , she thinks, but it’s a small comfort. Still, Leva’s hands shake when she pulls the handle to open her door and kicks it closed with her foot. 

When Leva enters, she can hear Marko’s distinct cry; high-pitched, hitching, a little grating, and it makes her stomach drop. “Jungle Boy’s in his room,” Luchasaurus calls, and he’s got Marko on the counter in their kitchen, holding a frozen bag of something over his face. She nods, heart beating a mile per minute as she pats her hips, searches through the baby bag slung over her shoulder, making certain she has everything she needs. Luchasaurus’ arm brushes hers as he exits, slamming the door behind him.

Jungle Boy is sitting in his room, like Luchasaurus said, and Leva’s startled to see a smear of blood on his forehead. “Are you hurt, little one?” she asks, then mentally kicks herself. Jungle Boy is regressed; he doesn’t talk, aside from the usual baby-babble. Which is cute, but it doesn’t help the woman who’s been summoned to watch him. Leva takes a knee beside the young man, tilts his head to one side so she can assess any injuries he may have. It seems, thank goodness, like Jungle Boy has just gotten blood on him- Leva can’t see any cut or wound on the kid. Licking her thumb and swiping it across the dried blood confirms her thought. 

“Well, at least  _ you’re _ alright, hm?” she mumbles, then smiles when Jungle Boy takes her free hand and coos in that incredibly precious way he does. It helps soothe Leva’s nerves, even as her brain runs with all the ways Marko could be hurt. Most likely a broken nose; the shorter man seems to have a knack for getting injured like that. She’s broken out of her revery when Jungle Boy tries to put her fingers in his mouth. “ _ Ah-ah-ah!  _ No, sir, we don’t do that,” she says, pulls her hand away from the boy’s mouth. Aside from a pout, he doesn’t fuss- he’s an easy one to babysit, up there with Orange Cassidy. Shifting to sit crisscrossed, Leva opens her bag, pulling out a few sturdy cardboard baby books, and Jungle Boy’s eyes light up. “How about I read to you, little one, would you like that?”

Leva always underestimates how cuddly Jungle Boy is. The boy immediately crawls into her lap the minute she decides on a book, rests his head on her shoulder, and sucks on his fingers as she begins reading. She knows she has a good voice for reading; she  _ is _ a librarian, after all, and she has a natural talent for keeping her voice low and gentle, perfect for young children and regressors like Jungle Boy. She’s finished the first book when she notices that the younger man has fallen asleep, curled up against her. “Out like a light,” she muses, stroking back his wild curls and laughing quietly. The only inconvenient part about this is that now Leva has a Jungle Boy-sized deadweight on her legs, keeping her in place until he wakes up.

When Jungle Boy awakens again, Leva has dozed off herself, resting her cheek on the top of the young man’s head. She yawns, watches Jungle Boy frown, look around the room, then at Leva, and his eyes go wide. “Oh,  _ fuck _ ,” he mutters, and the young woman has to bite her tongue to keep from chiding his use of explicit language. “When did you…?” Jungle Boy’s voice trails off as he gets more conscious of his surroundings, and his brows knit together in confusion. “Where’s Luchasaurus?” he asks, and Leva gnaws at the inside of her cheek. “Luchasaurus had to take Marko to the hospital, he got hurt,” she says, and frowns herself when Jungle Boy looks surprised, upset, and… guilty? 

“Do… you know  _ why _ Marko’s hurt?” Leva asks, and Jungle Boy ducks his head, ears going red. “I, uh- I headbutted him,” he admits, then rushes to explain himself when he sees the look on Leva’s face. “I didn’t mean to hurt him! He was- y’know how Marko is, he’s kinda pushy.” The young woman signs, pinches the bridge of her nose. “You’re very strong, Jungle Boy,” she reminds him, and he bobs his head, once. “I know that when you’re regressed, you can forget how strong you are, right? But Marko is physically smaller, and- I don’t know exactly  _ how _ he’s injured, but I assume it’s his nose.” Jungle Boy doesn’t look at her, just stares down at his lap, and it’s not until he sniffles that Leva sees the tears dotting his jeans. 

Her face softens- she really  _ can’t _ stay mad at him for too long- and reaches out to take his hand. “I just want you to understand that you can also be too rough sometimes. You’re a pretty big guy, and Marko’s… well, he’s  _ not _ very big, and that’s the problem. Does that make sense?” Another head bob, and Leva sighs. “Are you worried about your brother?” she asks, and Jungle Boy looks up then, eyes glazed over and wide as tears roll down his cheeks. “‘M  _ so _ scared,” he slurs, and a hiccup makes its way out of him. “I hurt him and- and I think Luchasaurus’ is gonna be mad at me.” 

Patting Jungle Boy’s shoulder, Leva uses her free hand to wipe the young man’s wet face. “I think Luchasaurus is just as scared as you, if not more. He’s got two boys to worry about, and he doesn’t like seeing either of you hurt,” she murmurs, waits until Jungle Boy’s tears stop flowing. “But, I don’t think he’ll be as mad as you think. I’m guessing he’ll tell you to remember how big and strong you are compared to Marko.” The young man nods again, takes a shuddering breath, and asks, “can I have a hug, please?”

Leva smiles. “Of course.”


	4. citrus family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orange Cassidy doesn’t seem the type that age regresses, but he does, so his brothers make sure he’s cared for and loved.

Orange Cassidy is sitting on the living room floor in front of the television. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, except that the orange juice he’s drinking is in a sippy cup instead of a glass. The man has his legs tucked underneath him, sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, and he doesn’t notice Trent walk past and stop. 

Trent is the youngest by only a year; then it’s Chuck, and then Orange, who’s the oldest. Orange also age regresses, and he’s told his brothers that his age range is between three to ten. It’s sort of odd, Trent seeing his oldest brother acting like a little kid, but it’s… kind of nice to take care of someone sometimes. Trent doesn’t like feeling like the baby all the time.

So, as the show switches to a commercial- a kid’s show, one for toddlers- Trent walks behind his older brother, hands in his pockets. “Hey, bud, you wanna order out tonight?” he asks, waits patiently for the blonde’s answer. Orange takes a long time to respond normally, but when he’s in his headspace, it can be twice that. The younger man has gotten really good at being patient. 

Orange nods, picks up the sippy cup beside him, and sucks on the rubber mouthpiece. Trent smiles, reaches down and ruffles his oldest brother’s hair, all fond. “How about Chinese, that sound good?” Another nod, more of a bob than anything, and then Chuck’s throwing open the front door with a loud, long string of expletives.

“Yo, Orange is in here!” Trent shouts at his older brother, turning to face Chuck, whose eyes are wide and confused. “Huh? Oh, shit!” Chuck exclaims, then slaps a hand over his mouth, and Trent rolls his eyes. “No cussing around him, remember?” Orange shifts, looking over his shoulder. “‘S fine,” he mumbles, and Trent sighs, pats the older man’s head. “Nah, Chuckie’s gotta watch his mouth, anyway,” he says, already starting to smile again. It’s hard to be mad around Orange, especially when he’s so little, all sweet and innocent. 

Chuck elbows Trent out of the way- among great protest from his younger brother- and stoops down to lift Orange. “ _ Hey _ , lil’ buddy! Miss me?” he asks, bouncing his older brother on his hip, making Orange smile, all slow and warm, then giggle. If there’s one thing that gets the older man to laugh, it’s his little brothers. “You were gone for a  _ while _ ,” Orange states, knocks his forehead against Chuck’s, and the younger man nods. “I  _ know _ , man, but I’m back, and I’ll be back for the next three days.  _ Three whole days, _ Orange!” Trent flicks the back of Chuck’s head, then slaps his back. “It’s good to have you home, Chuck, but we gotta order dinner soon. Chinese sound good?”

Trent moves into the kitchen with his phone, dials the number to the local Chinese takeout place, and Chuck plops down on the couch with Orange on his lap. “Oof!” he exclaims, and his older brother rests his head on Chuck’s shoulder, all relaxed. “So, whatcha’ watching, lil’ buddy?” Orange hums, rolls his eyes from his younger brother’s face to the television, eyes half-lidded. “You want your sippy, kid?” Chuck asks softly, noting Orange’s sleepy expression. He likes taking care of his older brother; it makes him feel important, like a real adult, which he is, he guesses. But it’s different when it’s Orange- the guy is usually so independent, so it makes times like these, with the blonde all curled up on his lap, almost asleep, all the more special. 

Orange is starting to blink, and his eyes are staying closed for longer and longer, so Chuck lifts him again- he doesn’t really weigh that much- shifts the older man so Orange is on his hip, sort of, and walks over to the kitchen. Trent is looking down at the paper Chuck’s scribbled their orders on, and mouths, “tired Juice,” to him. His baby brother nods, recites the order carefully while Chuck takes his older brother down the hall to his room. Halfway there, Orange fusses, bonks his forehead to Chuck’s chin, which is  _ too cute, _ especially when he mumbles, “want my  _ binky _ ,” with this  _ ridiculous _ edge of pissiness in his voice. The older man isn’t known for his strong emotions, so this show of irritation is funny to his little brother. “I  _ know _ , lil’ buddy, lemme get you to your room first. Take a nap before the food gets here,” he says, turns into Orange’s doorway, and steps over the clothes strewn over the floor to lay Orange down on his nest of a bed. Chuck knows his older brother’s room by heart at this point; he opens the middle drawer of Orange’s bedside dresser, finds the yellow pacifier first try, and pops it into the older man’s mouth.

With his pacifier, Orange’s eyelids droop once again, and soon enough, he’s out like that. Chuck watches his brother for a few more moments, this overwhelming love for him squeezing his heart tight before he turns to leave and go pester Trent.


	5. the librarian and the sloth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leva is called upon by Chuck and Trent to babysit a regressed Orange.

“Well, he _llo_ , buddy!” Leva coos as she steps through the door. Orange is seated on the carpet in the living room, a yellow pacifier clipped to his denim jacket and alphabet blocks stacked in front of him. He doesn’t say anything to Leva, just watches her as she makes her way across the room to kneel beside him. This doesn’t faze her; the older man is quiet at the best of times, and the regressed version of him is no exception. 

Reaching out, Leva touches the A block with a manicured fingernail. “Do you want to play with your blocks?” she asks, and Orange tilts his head to one side, stares down at her hand, where it’s on the block. He shrugs, takes the pacifier and pops it into his mouth. Undeterred, Leva rocks back on her heels, giving the blonde a gentle smile. “Well, I’ll get you a snack from the kitchen, and when I get back, maybe we can talk about what you want to do? How does that sound?”

Orange lifts a hand to scratch at his cheek, itching his beard, and a slow, genuine smile spreads across his face. It’s absolutely precious, seeing the stoic man grin with such pure happiness, that someone is paying attention to him and what he may want to do. Leva claps her hands softly, trying to contain her excitement. “Alright! What kind of snack do you want? I know you like orange juice- do you want string cheese, apple slices, or graham crackers?” she lists off, watching Orange’s face for any changes. To her surprise, he takes the pacifier out of his mouth, chews the corner for a minute, then says, “apple slices, please.”

Leva nods, chirps, “good choice!” and turns, walks to the kitchen. Luckily, Chuck and Trent have stocked the fridge, so she finds everything she needs easily. Humming to herself, she sets out a cutting board, takes one of the smaller knives from the block, and rinses off an apple. Mindful of her fingers, Leva cuts and cores it, making the slices a little smaller than usual, puts them in a bowl, and searches the cupboard for Orange’s sippy cup. She had to admit it’s very cute; it’s pink, decorated with star and fruit stickers, and she unscrews the lid, opens the fridge to grab the orange juice, pours it in, and screws it back on. Leva puts the juice back, takes the bowl and sippy cup, and walks back to the living room.

The older man is still seated on the floor, but he’s begun moving around the alphabet blocks with his brows knit together. He’s concentrating, and Leva bites her tongue to keep from giggling at the sight. “Your snack,” she announces, and sets both the sippy cup and bowl in front of Orange, who mumbles a soft, “thank you,” before grabbing an apple slice to munch on. Kneeling down once again, Leva peeks over to see what Orange is spelling, and smiles gleefully. The blocks are arranged so they spell out “whatever,” and the blonde seems incredibly pleased with himself. “Miss, look,” he says, lisp every stronger than usual, and the woman complies, reads the word aloud and says, “ _very_ good, buddy!” Orange’s reaction is nothing short of heart-melting; his eyes crinkle at the corners with the intensity of his grin, and he bobs his head, almost like a nod, and presses his sticky fingers to his lips, like he’s trying to contain his giddiness. 

An hour or so passes like that, with Orange spelling out different words and names- mostly _Chuck_ , _Trent_ , _wherever_ , and _whatever-_ with Leva ooh-ing and aah-ing over them. The bowl of apple slices go quickly, with the young woman sneaking one or two, and Orange’s juice is being drunk slowly but surely. It’s about twenty minutes before Chuck and Trent are expected back when the older man yawns, rubs his eyes, and leans on Leva’s shoulder. His eyelids droop, and he fumbles with his pacifier, suckles on it and seems to get sleepier and sleepier. “It’s pretty late for a little one like you to be up, do you want to go and sleep?” Orange nods, and Leva stands up, takes the blonde’s limp hands in her own. “Okay, up, I’m not _that_ strong,” she jokes. He whines softly from behind the pacifier, but he finally stands, allows the young woman to guide him to his room. It’s easy to get Orange settled; she helps the man out of his jacket, in clipping his pacifier first, of course, leaving him in his t-shirt and jeans. Leva helps clip the pacifier to the collar of Orange’s shirt, not wanting him to lose it, and he lays down on his bed without any extra fuss. 

“Did you have fun, buddy?” she asks, and Orange, gives Leva this sleepy, sweet smile, nods even as his eyes close. He’s out in under a minute, breathing deeply and evenly, and she pulls a blanket over the blonde, pats his shoulder gently, and walks out to wait in the living room for Chuck and Trent to get home. 

The two men arrive home at the time they said, sweaty and obviously exhausted from their match, but they greet and thank Leva warmly. “Thank you _so much_ for watching him, I know it was short notice,” Trent says, and she waves him off. “Oh, _please_ , he’s a joy to babysit,” she giggles, and Chuck grins, stretches and grunts when his back pops. “You’re, like, the _best_ , Leva,” he murmurs, and Trent hums his agreement, then starts patting around for his wallet. Leva stops him, though, and gives him a stern, “I won’t accept any money,” when the younger man frowns, looking downright confused. “I told you, he’s an absolute sweetheart. I don’t want money,” she insists, even as they both protest. Chuck relents after a minute or so of back-and-forth, sighs, all long-suffering. “ _Alright_ , alright, fine. But next time, you’re gettin’ paid and that’s _final_ , you got me?” and Leva smiles, rolls her eyes. “O _kay_ , Mr. Taylor,” she huffs as she steps past them to the door, and both men wish her a good night.

Walking back to her car, Leva smiles, puts a hand on her cheek as she thinks of Orange’s precious smile. 

Yes, watching the blonde is no problem at all.


	6. fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chuck and Trent weren’t there for their brother when he needed them the most. And they absolutely hate that they weren’t.

When the bag of blood oranges make contact with Orange Cassidy’s head, his brothers are backstage, watching on the monitors. And, like the overprotective sons of bitches they are, immediately try to get into the tunnels that lead out to the ring, but personnel stops them. Something about certain restrictions due to the virus- Chuck and Trent both call bullshit- but nevertheless, they’re corralled back. Peter Avalon makes a snide comment, “wait for them to wheel your boy back,” and Trent whips around and sends a look Avalon’s way, one that makes the guy jump and scurry towards the farthest corner.

The medics guide Orange backstage after ten minutes, one under each arm, supporting almost all his weight. Blood has soaked through his shirt and jacket, and it’s drying on his head and neck. He’s got this look in his eyes that makes Chuck’s stomach turn; it’s glazed and unfocused in a way that’s different from a regular wrestling bump. Trent has Orange sit on his lap, arms like a seatbelt around his big brother’s waist, letting the guy’s head loll back on his shoulder. 

Orange is almost asleep when Jericho and the rest of the Inner Circle walk back. Chuck is up in an instant, standing like a shield in front of his brothers. “Don’t you fuckin’  _ dare _ touch ‘im,” he hisses, squares his shoulders and stares down Jericho, who just snorts and taps the younger man’s bicep with the bat in his hand. “At  _ ease _ , big guy. Just wanted to make sure Mr. Cassidy is alright,” and Chuck reaches back, holds his hand palm-up, and trembling fingers brush it. “‘M okay, Chuckie, jus’... can we go? Please?”

The tone in his voice, the inflection in it, makes Chuck’s heart drop right to his shoes. “Trent, call mama, tell her to bring the van around,” he snaps, and the brief shuffle behind Chuck lets him know that his baby brother is carrying the blonde away from the men sneering and whispering. “Didn’t know Orange was such a  _ baby _ ,” Hager smirks, and the younger man takes a deep breath, exhales slowly and evenly. He can’t get in a fight right now. He’s gotta make sure Orange is alright- not just physically, but emotionally. Side-stepping Jericho, he allows the Inner Circle to laugh at him; big, bad Chuckie T backing down with his tail between his legs.

Sue’s got the van out front when Chuck finally makes his way out. She’s got this pinched look on her face; she always knows when something’s wrong. He walks around to the back and pulls open the door. Orange is strapped into the back, a rolled-up towel underneath his neck, supporting his head. Trent has taken his sunglasses off, and his eyes are half-lidded. He’s got his thumb between his lips, suckling lazily, and Chuck sighs, climbs in, and slides the door shut behind him.

Chuck carries Orange inside their apartment, cradling him like he’s a piece of fine china that’ll shatter if he so much as looks at the guy wrong.  _ Which _ , the younger man thinks bitterly,  _ isn’t too far off.  _ “You took a beating, lil’ buddy,” he whispers into Orange’s hair, and he gets a whimpered, “wan’ my blanky,” in return. Chuck doesn’t realize he’s started crying until he can’t stop, until he’s sort of hiccuping out these sobs that hurt his chest and back. He sits on the couch with Orange curled up in his lap, tries to stifle the flow of tears. The younger man has to be strong, be the blonde’s rock, because right now Orange isn’t his big brother- Orange is little, and weak, and vulnerable, and needs comfort.

Trent is the saving grace. He lifts Orange delicately from Chuck’s lap, carries the older man back to his room to put him to bed. Chuck feels useless, sitting there and crying; nothing happened to  _ him _ ,  _ he _ wasn’t the one being beat over the head with a bag of oranges.  _ He _ wasn’t the one bleeding from the head. He just stood there. Stood there and  _ watched _ . When Trent comes back, Chuck’s all cried-out- his body hurts, is kind of seizing like he’s still crying, and he has the worst fucking headache- and his baby brother pulls him into a hug. “You’re okay, Chuck. Orange is okay.  _ We’re _ okay,” Trent murmurs, soothing, all gentle-like, and the older man must  _ not _ be all cried-out, because that starts a fresh stream of tears, and he clings to Trent, face smushed against his chest. 

The next morning, Orange wobbles out of his room and sits himself on Trent’s lap, tucks his face into his neck, and passes out again. There’s still blood in the blonde’s hair, and he looks so  _ small _ compared to Trent. It makes Chuck’s heart squeeze painfully, lurch, and he has to look down or else he might just start crying again. Trent, for his part, just strokes Orange’s hair, pats his back in a way that Chuck is sure feels nice; his baby brother is an affectionate man, and he knows how to take care of others. They sit there, the three of them, watching each other- watching Orange, especially- and think about all the ways they’re gonna make the Inner Circle pay. 


	7. pissed off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orange Cassidy is angry. Like, really fucking angry. And he acts out in a way that hurts those he loves most.

It’s bad enough, watching Chuck and Trent lose to FTR; Orange is watching on the monitors, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, and he can feel his normally slow temper rising with each near pin his brothers get. He knows them- knows how incredibly strong they are, how well they work together- but FTR are slimy little cheats.  _ Especially _ Tully, distracting the ref so Dax and Cash can really whale on Trent. It makes Orange’s skin itch, and he doesn’t realize he’s balled up his hands into fists until his nails cut into his palm. 

What  _ really _ gets him, though, is when Trent rushes headfirst through the arcade cabinet. Kip looks absolutely crestfallen- only about his  _ precious game _ , of course- and Penelope runs back through the tunnels. Orange bites down on his tongue to keep back the stream of curses he wants to scream at the monitors, at FTR. He wants his brothers to win  _ so badly _ that it’s almost a physical ache in his chest. They deserve it.

Orange shouldn’t be surprised when FTR pins Trent, when they get the three-count that continues to name them the AEW tag-team champions. The blonde stamps his foot, grits his teeth against the pain shooting up his leg- he gets some weird looks- but he doesn’t care. His little brothers should’ve won;  _ would’ve _ won, if not for that bastard cheat Tully. His anger is briefly put on-hold when Miro and Penelope exit the tunnels, and it flares up anew when the larger man grabs Trent.

When Chuck and Trent are both beaten, thrown to the outside, Miro snarls into the mic, directly at Orange’s brothers, and the blonde bares his own teeth, like he’s right there in front of Miro. There are hot tears rolling down his cheeks, dripping down his chin and onto his shirt- he’s too fired-up to care that some of the other guys are staring- but he finally has to sit down and collect himself. He still has that match with Cody. With some effort, Orange takes in a deep, shuddering breath, steadies himself, calms himself down. He wipes his face, fixes his hair, and stands back up to get ready for his match.

* * *

It’s bullshit. It’s  _ fucking bullshit. _

Orange got the pin, got to two, and would’ve gotten the third if the timer hadn’t gone off. They ran it up all the way to the twenty-minute mark, and the blonde had laid his entire soul bare; left it all in the ring, and it was a  _ draw _ . It was a different kind of pain, when the ref bypassed him completely to hand the belt over to Cody. Instead of sadness, Orange is  _ mad _ .  _ Pissed off _ . Absolute, white-hot  _ rage _ .

Chuck is ready to comfort Orange when he walks backstage. He thinks that his older brother is mad, but mostly upset- needs a hug and some kind words- but whoever stomps in is  _ not _ Orange Cassidy. It’s a little hellion, intent on destroying anything and everything it can get its hands on. The closest thing to the rage-filled blonde is Chuck, with his arms open and face sympathetic. With a frustrated, crackling scream, Orange punches out, hitting his little brother right in the stomach, winding Chuck and causing an uproar. “ _ Hey, hey, hey!” _ Trent shouts, stands up and steps in-between his two brothers; Orange, panting and red-faced and madder than hell, and Chuck, doubled-over and wheezing. 

Trent clenches his jaw, stares down at his oldest brother. “What’re  _ doin’ _ , man?” he asks, voice far softer than before. Orange just glares, still breathing heavily, and pushes Trent. It’s not much; Trent’s bigger and weighs more than his oldest brother, and it doesn't faze him. But it catches the younger man off-guard. The blonde isn’t usually a physical person, unless he’s in the ring- especially not with his brothers. A hand rests on Trent’s back- Chuck, trying to keep the peace- and it’s another kick in the teeth. “Let it go, man,” Chuck whispers, even though his hand is trembling. 

* * *

Getting Orange out of the venue and to Sue’s car is no small feat. The guy drags his feet and whines and twists all the way there, and even shuns their long-suffering mother when she tries to ask him what happened. It makes Trent boil, and Chuck just seems lost. The drive home is far too quiet, aside from Orange’s huffs and kicks to the dashboard. He hasn’t behaved this way since he was a teenager, and even then, he wasn’t  _ this _ nasty. It worries his baby brothers- scares them- especially when he slams the car door and storms up to their apartment.

“Orange, I get you’re mad. You can  _ be _ mad, that’s all fine. But hitting Chuck? Being rude to mama? That doesn’t fly, and you know it,” Trent calls through Orange’s door, locked from the inside. He gets no response, which is fine- he doesn't expect one- and rests his head against the wood, sighing. “I just wanna know why you’re actin’ this way, man. You’re- you don’t even really  _ have _ moods. Chuck’s  _ real _ fuckin’ scared, and honestly? I’m terrified. This isn’t like you, bud.” It sounds cheesy, this whole monologue, but the lock on the door clicks, and Trent falls forward because Orange has jerked the door open. He looks up at his oldest brother and is a little shocked. The blonde is crying; tear tracks are shiny on his cheeks, and his eyes are all wet and red. “Orange,” Trent murmurs, stands up slowly, carefully; his body still hurts like fuck from the match. “ _ Orange _ ,” he repeats, and his big brother leans in, shoves his face into the crook of Trent’s neck. “‘M sorry, I just- I was so mad that FTR beat you, and I was mad at Miro and Kip, and- and I was mad that I  _ lost _ and I just,” Orange hiccups, cuts himself off, and whimpers. “I acted out an’ I didn’t mean to, I was just so  _ mad _ ,” he finishes, hands clenching the front of Trent’s shirt, shoulders shaking with little broken-off sobs. 

Trent smooths back Orange’s hair, presses a kiss to his scalp. “It scared you, huh? Seein’ me and Chuckie get beat up?” His oldest brother nods, sniffles, and wipes his nose on the collar of Trent’s shirt. “Got too many feelings that you didn’t know what to do with?” he asks. There’s a soft “uh-huh,” and the younger man can see Chuck leaning up against the wall, watching them both. “Hey, Orange? I get it, I get you were upset and scared, but you also scared us. Chuckie was just tryin’ to help,” he says, and the blonde draws in this hitching breath, like he’s about to cry again. Chuck pushes off the wall, gets right up against Orange’s back, wraps his arms around both his brothers. It knocks his and Trent’s foreheads together, but it seems to soothe their big brother. “‘M sorry, Chuckie,” Orange whispers, voice all weak and cracking, and Chuck hums, kisses the back of his older brother’s head. “I know you are, lil’ buddy. I know.”

Gently, slowly, Chuck sways side-to-side, and Trent follows his lead. It’s something Sue talked about; it was a surefire way to get Orange to relax and go to sleep. And now, with his baby brothers rocking him, warm and caring, the blonde closes his eyes, relaxes, and falls asleep.


	8. playdate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orange goes on a playdate with Kris. Accidents occur.

“Juice, you wanna go on a playdate?” Chuck asks, turning his head to look at the older man leaning against the doorway. Orange doesn’t respond for a minute, like he didn’t hear his younger brother. And then he lifts one hand, gives Chuck his typical, lazy thumbs-up, head tilted to one side, like his neck is too heavy to hold it. “Al _ right _ , lil’ buddy! Okay, Leva said it’s gonna be at her house, and Kris is gonna be there. You like Kris, right?” A slight nod, and Chuck secretly fist-pumps; he’s on a goddamn roll today, and he wants to call Trent to tell him, brag a little.

While Chuck packs a baby bag for Orange- his sippy cup, an old, worn shirt of Trent’s, his teddy bear- his older brother sits on the floor in front of him, eyes still guarded by his sunglasses. “Lil’ man,” he says, grins playfully at Orange, “you’re gonna have  _ so much fun _ , bud.” Chuck’s big brother nods, a more substantial one, and pushes his sunglasses up to the top of his blonde head. The younger man double-checks the bag, then gasps. “Your binky,” and that perks Orange up; his eyes get a little wider, and his lips part, make a small O. “ _ Don’t _ panic, bud, it’s alright,” Chuck insists, reaches out to touch the blonde’s cheek, soothing him. “It’s in your room,” he says firmly, and leaves Orange sitting with the baby bag, running towards his older brother’s bedroom.

Orange has begun chewing on the straps of the baby bag when Chuck gets back, breathing a little more heavily from his frantic searching, and he groans inwardly at the sight. He’s lived with the older man long enough that he knows the different traits between Kid Orange and Baby Orange. “Aw,  _ man _ ,” Chuck mutters, and walks over, gently eases the strap out of his brother’s mouth. Orange fusses; his eyebrows draw together and make this dumb, anxious little line between them, and he pouts-  _ actually fucking pouts _ \- when his younger brother slings the baby bag over his shoulder. “Don’t chew on things, lil’ buddy,  _ c’mon _ . Here,” Chuck says, holds out the pacifier, and Orange opens his mouth, makes this adorable little “ _ ahhhh _ ” noise as he leans forward, tries to get the pacifier without using his hands. 

Getting his older brother into the van is no small feat; Orange is a  _ wiggly _ son of a bitch, and seems to take  _ immense _ pleasure in unbuckling his seatbelt once Chuck has spent three minutes fighting to buckle him in. Frustrated, sweaty, and just a little defeated, the younger man sighs, stares at his brother, who just giggles around his pacifier. “Juice, quit it. I’m  _ serious _ ,” he adds when Orange rolls his eyes and makes this unimpressed hum. “Fine,” he says, and starts to climb out of the backseat. The older man leans in, confused, and Chuck tries not to smile when he murmurs, “well, if  _ you _ don’t wanna wear your seatbelt, I guess we can’t go to  _ Leva’s _ , ‘cause it doesn’t  _ look _ like you wanna have a playdate with Kris.”

That gets a  _ huge _ reaction from Orange- he throws himself forward, eyes massive and glistening with tears as he processes Chuck’s words. A soft, weak whimper sounds from behind the blonde’s pacifier, and he sits back, tugs at his seatbelt almost desperately. “You gonna lemme buckle you in?” A nod, big and obvious and frantic. “You gonna keep it on and be good while I drive?” Another nod, and Chuck finally smiles. “Alright, lil’ buddy, let’s get you buckled in.”

When Chuck pulls into Leva’s driveway, Orange is quiet, suckling away at his pacifier. “Lil’ man, we’re here! You ready to see Kris?” he asks, and his older brother coos, all excited, and it melts Chuck’s heart. The second Orange is unbuckled and helped out of the car, he toddles up to the front door and knocks clumsily. The gesture is so endearing that Chuck just laughs, watches as Leva opens the door and gasps with delight.

“Orange Cassidy! What a pleasure to see you again, my dear! Kris is just in here, sweetheart, come in!” she says, ushering in the older man into the house. With a small wave to Leva, Chuck climbs back into his car.

* * *

The blonde takes a while adjusting to Leva’s floor plan; he seats himself towards the edge of the carpet, sucks on his pacifier and stares at Kris. The younger woman has her legs out in front of her, and a large board book over her lap. Smiling, she reads to herself, pointer finger tracing under each word. “Kris,” Leva says softly, not wanting to startle the alien. “Orange is here,” and Kris’ head jerks up, with her antennae, usually smoothed back with her hair, rising up, quivering with excitement. “ _ Orange!” _ she cries, and waves at the older man, who gives Kris a lazy thumbs-up. Leva can tell that Orange is a little intimidated by Kris’ walker; the alien, due to being on Earth, and not her home planet, requires a mobility aid, which happens to be a walker. It’s decorated with little plush toys that hang off the handles, and stickers are stuck to every surface without it affecting the walker’s movement. 

Orange, ever the inquisitive little boy, pops his pacifier from his mouth, points towards the walker, folded up and resting against the wall, and mumbles, “wha’s da’?” Kris looks over at her mobility aid, antennae bobbing in thought, and she grins. “Oh, that’s my walker! It helps me move around, ‘cause my legs don’t work the same as you humans,” she explains, then pulls up the baggy leg of her sweatpants, exposing the braces there. “And  _ these _ are my leg braces!” The blonde’s eyes widen, and Leva presses her fingertips to her lips, tries to keep back a giggle as Orange crawls towards Kris. It’s such a darling action; even regressed, he’s very sloth-like, and once in front of the alien, he reaches out to touch the metal enclosing Kris’ leg.

The alien smiles, watching the blonde feel around her brace, investigating it. “Orange, do you want me to read to you?” she asks, and the older man’s head snaps up, blue eyes wide and excited at the prospect. “ _ Mhm!”  _ he hums behind his pacifier, one hand still on Kris’ leg as he pulls himself into a more comfortable sitting position. Leva watches the two interacting, unable to hold back her broad smile at the pure innocence and wonder between them both. 

Kris is halfway through her book when her face scrunches up with discomfort, and her cheeks flush pink. Leva notices the alien’s body language, and steps over to the younger woman. “Do you need a change?” she asks, and Kris nods, antennae curling with embarrassment. Orange, leaning sleepily against Kris, is jolted awake when Leva helps the alien stand up. “Where you goin’?” he mumbles, all slurred and lispy in a sweet way, rubs his eyes. Leva reaches over to unfold Kris’ walker while also paying attention to where the older man is. “Kris has a condition where she can’t go potty like other people, because she’s an alien,” the babysitter explains, and the blonde looks absolutely perplexed.

Well, he looks perplexed for  _ exactly _ three seconds, and then he smiles, and that sets the librarian at ease. Leva is relieved as she helps the alien towards her walker, but that relief is crushed to pieces when she hears a  _ hissing _ noise. Whipping back around, Leva’s heart drops when she sees a massive dark stain spreading across the older man’s crotch, forming a puddle underneath him, and the poor woman can’t move fast enough to yank Orange up. 

Leva sighs, watching the blonde splashing around in her tub, stripped down and soaking while his clothes get a similar bath. Kris is standing with her, leaning heavily on her walker, eyes flickering around nervously. “I- I need a change,” she murmurs, and the young woman is startled back to reality. “ _ Oh _ , Kris- I’m  _ so _ sorry, dear. I’ll be back with a pull-up. Please watch Orange?” she asks, and the alien nods, antennae perking up, glowing faintly. Leva rushes out of the bathroom and towards the living room, grabbing her baby bag and rummaging around. When she finds a spare pull-up, she silently cheers.

Orange is bundled up in a big, fluffy towel, hair still dripping from his impromptu bath as Leva delicately helps Kris into a clean and dry pull-up. “Why… why Kris wear da’?” he asks, and the alien blushes, looks up at the ceiling, and Leva pats her clothed hip, begins hiking up Kris’ pants to cover the incontinence aid. “Kris has some special needs,” she says, buttoning the younger woman’s jeans, “and that means she has to wear a pull-up, because sometimes she can’t get to a potty in time.” Orange is quiet for a second, almost  _ too _ quiet, even for him, and then he mumbles, “okay.” Settling that matter, Leva gives all her attention to Kris, for the time being. “Do you feel alright, sweetheart?” she whispers, and the alien nods, squirming about after she’s properly dressed again. “Thank you, Ms. Bates,” the younger woman murmurs, eyes teary, obviously embarrassed, and it breaks Leva’s heart a bit.


End file.
